


Duty Song

by pensword



Category: Dragonriders of Pern - Anne McCaffrey, Marvel
Genre: AU - 10th Pass, Dealing with the implications in canon, Dragonriders, F/M, Fort Weyr, Gen, Junior Weyrwoman Maria, Mating Flight aftermath, Senior Weyrwoman Pepper, Weyrleader N'ck, Weyrwomen get things done
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-06
Updated: 2016-08-06
Packaged: 2018-07-27 15:32:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7624141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pensword/pseuds/pensword
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[Crossover-Pern AU] In an unexpected 10th Pass, Fort Weyr's dragonriders have risen to the challenge of defending Pern from Threadfall, lead by Senior Weyrwoman Pepper and the Weyrleader N'ck. </p><p>Two Turns ago, Maria - found on Search commanding soldiers at an unnamed hold and scooped up into Fort Weyr - Impressed the newest Gold, Helicarth, and all the plans for her life changed in that moment. Now fully grown, the young Gold passes officially into adulthood with her first Mating Flight, and Maria struggles to deal with the fallout that cannot be fully explained in a tidy lesson by the Senior Weyrwoman.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1

Maria woke cold. She’d forgotten how uncomfortable it was, and the forgetting made her hate it more now. Slowly, she eased her knees down, stretched her legs away from the half-warm curl of her body, and a pang shot through her. Her jaw set, and she put it out of her mind. Placing a hand behind her, she pushed herself up, and the sleeping furs slithered the rest of the way off the suddenly-too-small stone sleeping ledge.

At her back, the Bronzerider was still sprawled facedown over far too much of her bed, his breathing and bulk crowding her until she joined the furs in sliding to the floor. The cold stone seared against her bare feet, and gritting her teeth, she managed a few steps away, almost able to put it out of her mind. But while her feet became accustomed to the cold, the vast expanse of her cavernous weyr made every inch of her ache, until her sweat-dried skin tried to crawl into her body and her bones felt too thick and fragile.

For a moment, all she could do was stand in the center and breathe, enormous breaths that she could feel expanding her ribs and hollowing her. She told herself she was over it, but still found herself cautious and careful as she moved through a space that should have been hers and hers alone, should have been safe. 

She could only stop watching where she placed each foot when she tugged the screening curtain aside, and looked on the vast cavern of Helicarth’s part of the weyr. She used the folds to warm her hand as she braced herself against the doorway, and something like peace came over her, just for a minute.

Her Gold was still in a heap on her couch; her own ribs heaved in and out, but otherwise she was still enough to be rock herself. Though, Maria noted sourly, she was pressed against the Bronze dragon the way the rider seemed to have tried to drape over her. Helicarth just had a bigger couch and hadn’t been woken by it. 

A hard sleep was no unusual thing, and particularly not after the frenzy and hard flight of their Mating Flight yesterday. Maria critically judged her color, and relief was another little ache; she didn’t glow anymore, but that was to be expected and she also couldn’t be called dull, not when the ruddy highlights in the creases of her wing and hide were picked up by the early morning sun just streaking through the weyr entrance. 

All was well. She told herself that as she let the curtain dropped and turned back into her own cave, and felt it chip something in her mind. All was well, because her weyr was just as it should be - with the addition of a shirt that was not hers over her small ledge of belongings, her rug rumpled and kicked towards the pile of sleeping furs at the foot of her bed. That was reasonable. That was fine. It was the morning after a Mating Flight. 

The fact that she couldn’t remember yesterday as more than a blur of movement was as normal as her aches - so said the Records, so said the Senior Weyrwoman, so said all the Greenriders who had their dragons Rising to mate far more often than the larger Golds. And if most of the previous day was blurred out, it also explained her being unsettled and unsure now.

The whisper of wrongness in the back of her mind - the whisper that couldn’t be Helicarth because she was asleep and so had to be her own intuition - she tried to ignore, even if she could sense that it was right, everything was wrong, and that she was lying to herself.

She was just cold, and once she bathed and dressed and had klah and buried herself in the Records and reports on her desk, everything would go away and she could forget about the Mating Flight and the uneasy feeling. Her eyes caught the Bronzerider, and she couldn’t name the twist of annoyance as anything other than wanting him out of her weyr because he was out of his right place and in the middle of hers, and shouldn’t be now that his presence was no longer needed.

She also couldn’t look long at him, and she did not think what curdled in her was shame - it was darker than that.

With an effort, she strode through her weyr to her bathing room, lifting her feet even if her thighs shook because she refused to shuffle anymore. She selected a pot of cleansing sweet sand, a soft towel, and brought both to the lip of the bathing pool; she stuck her hand into the water on old instinct, to ensure its heat, drew it out to start lathering and scrubbing...and stared at the mottled blue pattern on her wrist.

Outside the bathing chamber, the weyr had no mirrors, no reflective surfaces, and she hadn’t looked - hadn’t wanted to look, as little as she wanted to look at the rider and his dragon. She looked now, staring at the bruise as if she’d never had one before. And then, very carefully, she laid her hand over the almost-round splotches; it was a stretch to make her fingers fit, but with a large hand…

There was a matching bruise on the delicate skin of the inside of her other wrist. And another down her arm, covering her elbow. Craning her neck, she could make out not a bruise, but a red indentation in her shoulder; her fingers were gentle as they lifted to probe it, but the flare of pain still made her hiss a breath and her hand curl into a fist. Pulse rising and mind searing away all the fuzzy thoughts, she was compelled to look down, touch and catalog; more bruises on her hips, her thighs, her knees, stark against her pale skin, some less identifiable as handprints and more as mere oblong marks, more bite marks on her breasts and along her collarbone.

And she’d bit and bruised back. Rage solidified that instinct into knowledge, dredged up a few flashes, no more than a single image, blurred with movement and a particular double-vision: the strength of her bond with Helicarth, _being_ Helicarth, the taste of hot blood in her mouth and lunging for the sky; contemptuous scorn for the lusty Bronzes that followed, knowing she could outfly them all, and did, owning the sky; the scream of rage when he dared fowl her wings, dared bring her to earth. 

There was another image in her head, not nearly so much Helicarth’s mind but still with dragon-hot passion coloring her eyes: the tangle of dragons and human partners, of limbs and bodies tangling in the dark, her own being overwhelmed and contained by someone bigger and stronger, his musky scent shoved into her nose as his hands pawed at her skin. She’d wanted him, and hated him, and couldn’t remember if the hatred was Helicarth’s fury at being caught and mated, or hers.

But one memory was clear; Weyrwoman Pepper had assured her that it was intense sex, but beautiful and glorious, even if she wound up with someone who was not her choice of partner, which was, after all, for the dragons. She stared down at her bruises, looked over her shoulder at the Bronzerider in her bed; the Bronzerider that had made himself perfectly at home in her bed; the Bronzerider who had captured and confined her with swaggering arrogance. And she wanted to laugh and seethe in equal measures as the absurdity of that lie.

Her hands were shaking, a little, as she finally scooped a handful of sweet sand into her palm, and she almost closed them into fists again to make it stop. Instead, she attacked her body, scouring away the sweat until her skin was pink and stinging, but as it was also clean and the pain came from her hands, she found it far more acceptable. She stepped into the pool and submerged briefly to rinse, and surged out of the water, unable to stay still; it didn’t make it any better, to know the cause of the restlessness. Not if she didn’t have a solution for it.

She couldn’t see Bronzerider or dragon, but she could sense them itching at her skin with every chaff of the towel against her wounds as she dried herself briskly: they were there, they had caused this and they were _still there_ , and that was enough. With a rough shake of her head and scrub of the towel over her short hair, she strode for her clothes chest. She would get dressed, and work, and forget. The plan hadn’t changed with the addition of those red-tinged sparks of memory.

The towel dropped from her fingers at the sight of his pants splayed over her desk, one leg jauntily dangling down towards the floor. She hissed again, this time an exhale through clenched teeth and a tight jaw. She could, of course, move them to work, but their presence just reminded her that he had proclaimed his superiority. He had taken over her and her weyr, and had ensured that he got his way.

It was a Mating Flight, it was intense, it happened and the rider accepted it; she chanted to herself, but it rang false even in her own head. She couldn’t know if other female dragons had the same scorn for the males who rose to pursue them, but she did know that she’d never seen bruises like hers on any other rider. So, it was just her, then, somehow personal even if dragons had caused it.

And right now, she didn’t care if it was just a Mating Flight, or if it was her fault somehow though she couldn’t imagine how, she did _not_ want to face everyone in the Weyr and particularly not the rider who was still sleeping in her bed and all their expectations of what it had been like and try to explain why she was so damn upset over something that _happened_ with dragons --

She dumped his clothes on the bed next to him, blinking as she realized she’d been gathering them as her thoughts whipped into a frenzy. She needed to simultaneously pretend this never happened, and deal with the fact that it had, neither of which could be done in the Weyr.

In spite of the urge to punch the rider awake - and see who it was, as she realized with a sick feeling that she couldn’t remember his face from the frenzy of images, carefully shoved back down as irrelevant - and ordering him out, Maria turned away, back to her clothes chest. She dressed quietly in a warm shirt and trousers, then added her boots and flying jacket. 

She’d been right; she did feel better dressed, the heavy leather armor around her bruises. That only strengthened her resolve to leave; if he wouldn’t get out of her weyr, she would. He could have the damn thing, the way he’d had her, but she refused to dance to his tune this time, now that she was free.

With one last glare, she ducked under the curtain and strode over to her Gold, manfully resisting the urge to kick the Bronze’s tail on the way past. None of this was the dragons’ fault; it was, after all, a Mating Flight, and of course a Bronze would chase and catch a Gold. That part was simply natural. But Maria was still battered by the human side of it.

_Helicarth,_ she called through their bond, laying a hand on the queen’s shoulder and running it down the long neck to the wedge-shaped head. Curling her fingers against the dragon’s eye ridge in a gentle scratch, she called again, and was rewarded when Helicarth’s multi-faceted, jeweled eye cracked open, all dusky blue with sleep.

_It is very early,_ Helicarth said reproachfully, and Maria could feel the weight of her exhaustion behind the words; she, Maria, might rise this early normally, but she, Helicarth, wanted to sleep until the sun warmed her ledge, then pad outside and sleep some more.

It made Maria smile a little, and she rubbed the dragon’s sensitive headknob fondly. _You always want to sleep, and it is warmer already in Southern Boll_ , she coaxed.

The trick worked. Helicarth’s head lifted a little, eyes opening and shading green in interest. _Boll?_ she asked, almost trilling the word.

Maria closed her eyes, and pictured the cove they’d found on one Weyrling flight; while she’d memorized the landmarks for _between_ ing to Southern Boll Hold as required, she also imprinted the cove along the Big Bay, and it had become their private beach. She passed along the familiar image now: a rocky beach rather than sandy, but protected from sight by the cliffs, just dragon-sized, and beautiful blue water, and _warm_ …

Helicarth hauled herself to her feet, Bronze and exhaustion forgotten, and lumbered to her ledge. Bemused - and relieved - with the abrupt change, Maria trotted after her, and had to tap her dragon’s foreleg to get her to extend it, as impatient now as her rider to be in the air and to different skies.

A little too impatient - Maria swung up and settled on Helicarth’s withers, and hissed when she was painfully reminded of the bruises on her thighs. _You are hurt!_ Helicarth trumpeted in her mind, a whirl of orange alarm in her eyes.

_It’s nothing, dearest,_ Maria assured her, and put the full force of belief behind it to convince herself as well as her dragon. _Nothing warm water and sunning won’t fix._

As Helicarth favored sunning away her problems in general, the dragon accepted this explanation. She was still courteously gentle as she sprang off her ledge, gliding for a long length before giving a single pump of her wings. Perhaps it was from the hard exertion yesterday, and perhaps it was a bit of laziness, too, but Maria was grateful when Helicarth was very careful indeed as she banked over the Weyrbowl; she had not bothered with flying straps, and her legs were far too shaky to hold her if Helicarth did decided to get elaborate in flight.

The mountain bowl still in shadow below them, just enough light for Maria to see the familiar Weyr - the darker holes of individual weyrs in the mountainside, the craggy lip above, the silhouette of the watch-rider at the Star Stones; she looked down, just enough to catch the sight of ink-black waters of the lake passing beneath her, with the boarding thread-slender line of the fence penning in the Feeding Grounds. The Weyr had been her home, the first one that truly deserved the word, and the riders her family, but now she felt her pulse pound against her eardrums with the need to be away. 

It was too early for anyone to be awake but her, and even the watch-rider would be dozing after a long night, she told herself, and still felt a fissure of something like fear as she directed Helicarth to where an ancient earthslide had caused a wide break in Fort Weyr’s cliff-formed walls. It was stupid; she was, of course, allowed to leave the Weyr anytime she chose, as long as Thread wasn’t falling. But leaving this early, this soon after the Flight, would cause questions. And she really didn’t want to answer questions right now.

For all she was a gaudy, sharp-voiced Gold, Helicarth flew quietly, only a tip to her wing to change direction, riding smoothly along the natural winds of the Bowl. Whether the watch-rider was sleeping or drowsy, or just thought nothing of a dragon flying in the general direction of the Feeding Grounds, she couldn’t say. All that mattered was that she passed unchallenged, and her chest eased.

Beyond the cliffs of the Weyr, Maria closed her eyes and brought up the Southern Boll cove in her mind again, this time focusing on the particulars of cliffs and shore, the exact peaks and dips of the dark stone line marked against the sky, the angle of the sun - slightly higher, farther south - the green that crept up along the cliffs. Helicarth rumbled approval: her coordinates were always sharp, always clear, always easy to follow. And then her dragon took them _between_.

Utter nothingness surrounded her, suspended her so thoroughly she could not feel Helicarth between her legs. And for just a breath, she needed the sharp cold, nothing but her skin and breath, utterly alone. The two other breaths between lasted, she needed her dragon, her bondmate and unarguably-better half.

And then they burst into the hot, humid air of the southern peninsula, and Maria gasped in a breath as she reached down to pat Helicarth’s neck, resting her hand against the soft skin and the firm muscle beneath it. Helicarth actually crooned soothingly as she banked almost on a wingtip, letting the beauty of the peninsula and the waters stretch from horizon to horizon as they hung above the earth, circling around so the whole sweep of their place was displayed. 

It was exactly as her pictured coordinates, achingly beautiful, and perfectly deserted. Maria felt another knot around her heart ease. 

Enough that when Helicarth pitched forward steeply, her yelp was of laughter as she calculated the angle. “Love, you’ll put us in the water!”

_You need warm water for your hurts,_ Helicarth reminded her with the combination of silk and steel that had her thoroughly in love. And even if she didn’t need it _right now_ , she still laughed as Helicarth pulled up just above the waves and fanned her enormous wings, throwing spray everywhere as she set herself down in the middle of the cove. For a moment, her wings stretched up like lustrous sails; with a self-satisfied murmur, she folded them down along her back and paddled in a circle, powerful tail whisking into an arc, acting as a rudder.

Maria took the cue, and hooked a leg over Helicarth’s dorsal ridge. “Over to that ledge there,” she murmured as she fumbled with first one boot, then the other. Helicarth paddled closer to the cliffs that bordered the bay, and Maria pitched the boots up onto the ledge, followed in short order by her flying leathers, then her shirt and with a little wiggling, pants. And then it was the easiest thing in the world to slide down Helicarth’s shoulder and plunge into the clear, bath-warm waters of the cove.

The surface closed over her head in a rush, and she watched the mottled, rippling silver plane, streaked with the dark silhouette of her dragon, receded from her in a stream of bubbles. For one brief, shining moment, the water surrounding her a thick caress, almost supporting her even as she sank deeper into water that was shockingly clear. Nothing hurt, nothing pressed; it was the solitude of _between_ with warmth and everything against her. Fanning out her arms and legs, she reveled in the warm suspension that cradled and protected her.

At least, until her lungs gave a sharp pang, and the moment ended. Kicking strongly, she chased the surface until she burst into the air, and the air was humid but sweet, thick with the complex scent of land meeting sea. At the edge of her consciousness, she could sense Helicarth hauling herself out of the water onto the narrow shelf of a beach, contentedly murmuring as she nosed the pebbles into something resembling a dragon’s wallow and collapsed onto it, tucking head and wings about her.

Her dragon’s contentment and affection washing over her like the lapping waves, Maria tipped back, closed her eyes, and let herself float and breathe, the lingering soak she hadn’t permitted herself in her weyr.

Before her closed eyes, she saw a dark head bent over her throat. And then she was staring up at the rock ceiling of her weyr, _feeling_ : darkness, the twist of her wrists, increasingly panicked, as a very large hand gripped tighter and stilled them, pressure increasing as she strove for her freedom; pain, aggression, possession from him, while she fought his claim because how dare he catch her and she did not want his teeth and fingers and cock even as they made her moan.

Maria gasped, sinking as she flailed momentarily, skin too cold and crawling with something more than the cold. Helicarth crooned concerned alarm, and Maria kicked shaky legs to plow through the water in the general direction of shore. Focusing on not drowning, on the pull of water against her arms and sliding along her body took her mind off the flash of memory, which would settle Helicarth, because riders would do anything for their dragons.

It had been a Mating Flight; she knew some of her thoughts were Helicarth’s in her mind. But some of them had been hers.

She still couldn’t remember who, or why he was so objectionable - if there even was a reason, or if it had been enough that he’d been the one to catch her - just the fighting and the fucking, and not even all of that.

And if she couldn’t remember, it would pass, Maria told herself firmly as her toes dug into the earth, and she staggered up onto the beach. It was fueled in part by dragon memories, and dragon memories only lasted three days. It would fade, and go away.

She just needed this space to put herself back in order. Hearing her ragged breaths, Maria almost laughed bleakly again. How could she put herself back together when she refused to break, and had gotten bruises for remaining strong and whole, a human’s fragile body shot through with dragon strength?

Helicarth’s head lifted as she crooned, this time with gently, eyes already double-lidded in a doze, and her forearms shifted a little invitingly. Maria wasn’t strong enough to resist; she crawled into the little hollow formed by Helicarth’s chest and legs, curled towards warmth and softness and her dragon’s distant, steady heartbeat. Her Gold’s unconditional, total love washed over her as Helicarth lowered her head onto her forearms again, forming a little soft cave that protected her on all sides. 

Maria reached up and set her hand on Helicarth’s eyeridges, scratching a little, and closed her eyes. This time, she was surrounded by light and warm, the sun on her face, and the warmth and spicy scent of dragon. She couldn’t even harbor the thought of hurt even if something was digging suspiciously-painfully into her hip. She was safe.

She didn’t know how she could forget yesterday, but spending today here with Helicarth seemed like a pretty good start.


	2. Part 2

Vergineth trumpeted a cheerful welcome to the watch-dragon and the Weyr as they burst out of _between_ over the Weyr, dazzling gold in the morning sun, and Pepper lifted her arm in similar - though quieter - salute. The watch-dragon’s answer was echoed by several dragons sunning on their ledges. Though the Bronzes seemed subdued, she noted as Vergineth slowly spiralled down to her own ledge. Well, there had been a Queen Flight yesterday, Pepper reminded herself; they would be tired from the chase.

Reminded as well, Vergineth sent a grumble her way as she backwinged and delicately set down on her ledge, and Pepper had to laugh. “They’re not _only_ your Bronzes, my dear,” she murmured as she slid off and made quick work of the riding straps’ buckles, giving a tug to free them from Vergineth, “because you are not the only Queen of the Weyr.”

 _They should be, and I should be,_ Vergineth grumbled as she paced in a circle, head moving up and down the line of weyrs, and Pepper was quietly relieved that Helicarth wasn’t out and about yet - she, too, would be tired and ill-inclined to move today. More importantly for the moment, it meant that Vergineth blew a snort, but then was content to settle on her ledge and survey her Weyr with the smug pride of the Senior Queen dragon.

Pepper neatened the riding straps, laying them over their proper rack to dry, then collected her bundles and carried them into her weyr. Rank carried some niceties from necessity; she had a sunny parlor apart from her sleeping chamber, the desk angled so she could look up and see Vergineth on her ledge. Setting the bundles on her empty desk - just the way she’d left it - she started to undo her heavy flying gear, beginning with the helmet and unpinning her braid from where she coiled it at the nape of her neck.

A blue fire-lizard burst into view above her desk, bringing a sharp blast of cold from between that made her grateful she hadn’t started with her jacket. Chattering smugly at his own cleverness, the blue landed on top of her bundles and stuck out his forearm with the message scroll wound around it - in her general direction, but Pepper counted it as close enough.

“Well done, Arc,” she praised as she drew her belt knife and cut the string binding the message. “You can go sun with Vergineth if you like,” she offered. She might just have a message to send back to Anthony, and keeping his fire lizard around ensured a very quick and sure route to him. 

Besides, she liked Arc, secretly her favorite of Anthony’s four. Even if Anthony had a horrible nickname for him.

Arc trilled as he shot up and zipped out to the ledge, and Vergineth’s resigned amusement rumbled through Pepper as the miniature dragon circled around her, then found a comfortable spot between her shoulders. Pepper found her own shoulders shifting a little in instinctive answer to her dragon’s movements, and set Anthony’s message aside to begin sorting out her luggage; he’d last seen her less than an hour ago, and there was no message she could imagine would be urgent enough to demand a reply within minutes.

She smiled a little again as she lifted out her clothes from yesterday, set them in the laundry basket just beside her weyr’s door. Beneath them were the scrolls she’d taken to show Anthony, and those she set down on her desk to be sorted back into their appropriate niche.

Queens did not share Bronzes, but generally permitted another Gold’s presence. Except when they rose to mate, and doubly so if the other queen was anywhere close to rising herself. It was prudent, then, to remove all other queens from the Weyr for the duration, but Pepper never minded; it was duty, dragon-necessity, but also the quiet tingle of pleasure in her gut from seeing Anthony again, and unexpectedly. Even if it took all four fire lizards and his assistant to pry him out of his workshop so he’d realize she was there.

But once he had… Pepper’s smile grew warm as she moved Anthony’s message to the top of the scrolls, fingers lingering over the hides as if they were taken from his skin and not just his hand. He was as passionate as any Bronze, and being able to remember the experience had much to recommend it.

She was just reaching into her bag for her warm slippers when both Vergineth and Arc sent her a whirl of orange alarm. She turned to the ledge, and Weyrleader N’ck burst into her weyr. 

“I hurt her and she’s gone!” he blurted out. He looked around her weyr as if he’d never seen it, and his hand came up to rest on a scratch on his cheek, just visible against his dark skin. “I hurt her, and now she’s gone,” he repeated, making no more sense the second time, but his eyes jumped and shook. 

Even after that first Threadfall, the first after no one thought Thread would ever fall again, she had never seen her Weyrleader panic like this.

Pepper’s gut sank in a wounded dragon’s free-fall. The Bronzes were subdued, the Weyr quiet with more than a morning after losing a Mating Flight. Helicarth was not on her ledge. She’d taken Vergineth away, but that did not ensure Helicarth’s - Maria’s - safety. Not if she’d been… ‘hurt.’ _Vergineth, bespeak Helicarth!_ she ordered her dragon, and demanded of N’ck, “Gone where?” 

“I don’t know,” N’ck said, and his eyes jumped, hand going up to rub over his almost-bald head. “The Mating Flight was...it happened and Fureth caught Helicarth and...and now she’s not here. She wasn’t in her weyr when I woke. Either of them. Fureth can’t find her.”

 _Helicarth says they are warm and safe and that her rider does not want to talk to us,_ Vergineth relayed. _And will not bespeak Fureth._ Sharpest worry eased from the strangle around Pepper’s chest. No matter what had happened, Helicarth and Maria were still alive; as Anthony liked to say, anything could be fixed, as long as it existed. She was not ashamed to take his philosophy for her own.

Pepper took a deep breath, and stepped away from being the woman who was in love with the Master Smithcrafter, and into Senior Weyrwoman Pepper of Fort Weyr, the first Weyr and thus first among all the queens. Someone had to be the sensible one here, and that had to be her. With the mental step back from the surprise of N’ck agitated and fear for a fellow queen, she studied the Bronzerider.

He was still fidgeting, little twitches in his broad shoulders, and he was looking somewhere between her and Vergineth, into the wall of the weyr, but without the distance to his eyes that hinted at a conversation between him and Fureth. And at that angle, she could see the scratch down his cheek, deeper high on the point of the bone, where it must of started and slashed down, a quick, flailing claw.

“N’ck, sit down,” she said with enough firmness that even if she was quiet, he sat on her chair and looked up at her with equal parts trust, hope, and fear. “Shirt off,” she said, and as obediently as a child, he pulled it off, heedless of buttons. There were more long scratches down his shoulders and - she touched his shoulder, had him lean forward, and nodded to herself - back, and a wild semicircle of a bite mark low on his neck.

Others in the Weyr might point to those marks and chuckle and mutter about Mating Flights. She remembered his wild look and panicked words, saw the pain in his eyes now as he looked up at her, and went and got her kit of medicines. Anything that could draw blood could be infected, but more importantly, she could not lay bandages on his heart.

As she stood in front of him, she doused a clean cloth with redwort to cleanse and said, “Tell me what happened, from the beginning.”

N’ck still wouldn’t look at her, but at least he would talk in complete sentences - however clipped, a wingleader reporting to a superior on weather conditions - and she didn’t need much more than his few words to picture it, not having felt the same, been the same. “Helicarth woke and blooded her kills.” He didn’t flinch as she dabbed at the swiped line down his cheek, and neither did she. “Maria was there. The Bronzes gathered. She merged with Helicarth - she called the Bronzes fuckers.” 

“Accurately,” Pepper pointed out absently as she re-wet the cloth and went after the longest line down his shoulders next. She could almost hear the scornful laughter that must have underlaid Maria/Helicarth’s words, dismissive to the Bronzes who circled around her, heads low with impatient lust. What Queen didn’t know they could out-fly anyone in the Weyr, and pass those emotions to their - in this instance, already foul-mouthed - rider? 

N’ck smiled a little, and that was it’s own balm on Pepper’s uneasiness, because the man was still there under the battered shell. “Accurately,” he agreed. “She took off. The Bronzes followed.” The thunder of wings, the racing of the heart, the joy of the open sky and the twist of lust that made every wing-flip a flirt even as gold wings slid away from bronze; Pepper closed her eyes, hands momentarily stilling down his back, and let her own memories fill her for a moment. It was absolute freedom and power, coupled with the surety that you were immortal and untouchable.

But no one was immortal, even if there were only scratches to prove it now. Murmuring wordlessly, she stroked down the next one, encouraging him to continue even as his skin rippled under her touch and scrutiny.

“She twisted. Got close. Fureth caught her.”

Pepper’s hands paused on the last of the easy scratches, the ones that were little more than red lines over his skin - darker red now, with the application of redwort. “Caught?”

“Grabbed, caught, mated,” N’ck confirmed. And finally he raised his head to look at her, and his eyes were bleak. “She screamed.”

Pepper’s heart froze. Ice in her veins and precision in her dabs at the semi-circle on the thick tendon in his neck - how hard, in desperation or pleasure, must she have sunk her teeth into him, to leave the mark visible this morning? - she asked, “Helicarth?” An upset queen being denied her choice of mate, surprised from behind? “or Maria?”

“Both.” Her hand lay a long moment on the bite mark, and she breathed in and out - because she hadn’t heard it, but she could imagine exactly how eerie it would sound, to have the Bowl echo with a rider’s dragon-like cry. Pragmatically, she cleaned the wound, and figured it wasn’t surprising that the Weyr was subdued in the morning after that.

“Helicarth submitted,” N’ck said after a long moment, “after Fureth twined his neck with hers. Maria fought me. Every step of the way.” Pepper closed her eyes against the haunted look in N’ck’s, then laid the cloth aside. She had a skin of wine with her medical supplies, strong and harsh, and poured a good cup into a its matching mug now.

As went the dragon, so went the rider, but it was almost unimaginable that a woman would scream in fury and denial at the climax of the flight: the dragon, yes, but not the rider. Not as the dragon soon forgot pain in the pleasure of mating and the rider shared that ride of passion, while still retaining a rider’s human far-sighted wisdom, enough to submit to necessity.

Generally, the rider accepted and even desired what was happening: dragon pleasure usually overrode inhibitions towards partners and the rough nature of the sex. And even if the rider didn’t have their exact choice of mate, dragon lust flooding them meant they generally accepted some kind of mate.

Not unless this was _not_ the first time she had been “grabbed, caught, and mated,” as N’ck put it.

Or, Pepper would allow, if this had been the very first time for her...but Maria had been old for a Candidate, and found in the company of soldiers: she was not likely to have been a virgin. 

It still was a horror: passion should have meant pleasure, not rage and terror. And yet, it did happen every so often in the Weyr - just never a Queen. But Maria had fought, and so it had happened to a Queen now. Pepper saw the proof of that under her fingers now, and though she knew the how, she still wondered _why_.

And looking at N’ck, the deep circles beneath his eyes that had little to do with exertion and lack of sleep, he was thinking the exact same thing, and it was eating through him like a belly of agenothree. “I couldn’t stop, Pepper,” he told her, voice finally hoarse with choked emotion. “On my dragon’s egg, I couldn’t even think to stop. She clawed like a wild wher and I just held her down.” He bit off his words, looking away again.

Pepper was surprised that her hands were steady as she uncapped a vial, and very lightly laced the wine with fellis; outlined by the redwort, his wounds momentarily looked like guilty red badges, describing the fight, but more importantly, redwort served as a block to numbweed. And truly, it was more his mind that needed to be numbed than his skin, and a draught of alcohol and narcotic would take the worst of the edge off.

Gently, she pressed the metal mug into N’ck’s hand. When he stared down at it, throat working but without actually lifting it to his mouth, she finally sat next to him, resting her fingers against his wrist. “You’re not a Holder-boy using that excuse,” she reminded him, just as gently as her touch. “Or even a rider, against a woman of the Lower Caverns, claiming she teased and led him on until he _had_ to have sex.” Her lips thinned a little in distaste, and she carefully put the hypothetical aside before continuing with the matter of today, “This was a Mating Flight, N’ck. Your mind was Fureth’s. And once he caught Helicarth, no, you didn’t have a choice but to mate, even if she fought you. It’s not your fault.

“That doesn’t mean that it wasn’t brutal and wrong,” she added, finally giving in and letting her words sting like the antiseptic. The hope that had kindled in N’ck’s dark eyes faded a little. “Fureth _caught_ Helicarth,” Pepper repeated, staring him down, “the same way he _caught_ Vergineth.”

N’ck’s dark skin lost a shade of color. “You…”

“Didn’t scream because I’d already accepted that whoever my partner was, it wasn’t my first choice,” Pepper interrupted. Clearing her throat to roughen away the twinge of sadness at the necessity of duty - the cold equation of the Weyr needing a strong Weyrleader, and the Weyrleader being decided by the Bronze that flew the Senior Queen, which ended up equaling N’ck, and as Anthony didn’t have a dragon it didn’t really matter - she got back to the topic at hand. “Especially for this first Mating Flight, she should have been able to pick her mate. _Not_ had Fureth do what he thinks is his natural prerogative and mate with every Gold and Green in the Weyr.”

N’ck had the grace and wisdom to look somewhat abashed, because Fureth _did_ have a habit of chasing after every female that rose to mate, and winning more than any dragon - even the Weyrleader - had a right to. “He’s the biggest Bronze in Fort,” N’ck did say on a rumble.

“That still doesn’t mean that he need be in every Mating Flight - you could just as easily rein him in. And, in this instance, should have.”

“I couldn’t have very well known she--”

“No, but knowing it was the first time Helicath rose, you still should have shown more decorum,” Pepper said. “Knowing that Fureth has a tendency to grab - and you are aware that he does?” she asked with an arched brow. 

“I do _now_ ,” N’ck grumbled.

The sheer callousness implied made Pepper wish she’d dug at the cuts some more. “Choosing their mate makes a difference,” she told him - had to, because she was Weyrwoman and it was her job to speak for everyone who didn’t otherwise have a voice. “It makes a difference for every rider of a female dragon, even if they’re not as vocal about it as Maria was.” Choosing was always better than being taken, though sometimes it was a very fine distinction indeed.

“Knowing that,” she continued with steely resolve, “refraining from joining in would have been appreciated. And even if she hadn’t reacted quite as she had, it still would have been _better._ ” It was always better, when the Gold expended fury and energy in a high, far flight, and then had her pick of those that managed to keep up; there was always smug contentment, and certainly none of the rage from having their will denied and taken from them.

Instead, Maria had the shock of having her mind and body taken over by her dragon, and then by someone other than her bondmate. Small wonder she’d screamed and fought, no matter her background. And if it was as she suspected, small wonder she’d left marks.

“Far more importantly now,” Pepper continued when N’ck seemed ill-inclined to argue under the circumstances, mostly on the grounds that he, too, still rode the shock of having his mind taken by his dragon and forced to do something he found distasteful, “is the fact that you will personally ensure that it does. Not. Happen. Again.” She punctuated each word with a poke in his chest, until he grunted and scowled from the pain and indignity. “It was not your fault, not once the dragons rose to mate,” she had to repeat, easing back a little. “But it shouldn’t have happened and it will not happen again.”

N’ck coughed a little, and he still looked pained, but he nodded, so it could have been guilt and prodding at the scratch marks, not hesitation. “Agreed,” he said.

She looked down at the cup of wine he still hadn’t drunk. “Finish that and go back to bed. Sleep will numb the pain.” She turned back to her Healer’s bag, and considered what she’d need for her other patient. Comfrey of course, for bruises…

She heard, then, N’ck shifting his weight on her chair, then getting to his feet and pulling his shirt back over his head - heedless that the damp redwort would stain it to match his wounds. “I can’t afford a day sleeping.” Absolved of his guilt, though not his participation, he was shrugging off his horrified apathy and stomping into his Weyrleader hide, needing to bark and bluster and be the Weyrleader. “We’ve got a Queen missing,” he barked, as if this had been brought to him as a report and not directly caused by him. “I’m mustering the Wings to find her.”

“Sit down and drink that,” Pepper said, mild words undercut by square shoulders and a finger firmly indicating the chair in question. “Do you truly think she wishes to see you now?”

N’ck lost yet another shade of color, and if he wasn’t the Weyrleader she would worry about him far more. At least he sat, and raised the mug to his lips for the first time. “Could have at least given me better wine. She needs to be found,” he grumbled. “She can’t be allowed to go _between_ on her own.” The cup lowered, and he shifted his weight forward, a ripple of tension through his chest as he prepared to stand again.

Pepper restrained a sigh - and the question of how he thought Maria and Helicarth had gotten to somewhere warmer by water in the first place - and lifted her bag. “No. I’ll find her. Vergineth got enough to narrow her location down, and another female won’t spook her like you would.” Vergineth wasn’t entirely happy about being volunteered, but she did stretch and get to her feet, and her eyes started whirling with charged orange anxiety, picking up Pepper’s concern and her own sense of her hatchling - several Turns ago, true - being wounded.

N’ck looked about as happy as her dragon, but as he was about as pale as he could possibly get - and with a greasy cast to his dark skin, and while his eyes were less stunned, they were still sunken and tired - he probably wasn’t going to look healthy, much less happy, for a long while. “Then I’ve still got the Wings to organize,” he said as he struggled to his feet again. “There’s Threadfall tomorrow.”

Vergineth bugled, and Pepper cocked her head, listening to the notes in the air and the chatter of dragons in her head. And then she smiled, just in advance of the entrance of Fort Weyr’s third and middle Weyrwoman. Sharon was running her hands through her rumpled blonde hair as she strode through the door, saying, “Benden has yet another fire-lizard clutch…” She stopped mid-report, eyes darting across the tableau, and then deliberately turned to Pepper. “Weyrwoman?” she inquired with such politeness they might have been strangers.

“Much has happened, and I’ll explain once I’m back,” Pepper said. Nodding to N’ck, she said, “In the meantime, please ensure that he drinks that, and if I’ve not returned within an hour, ask the Wingleaders on the readiness of their Wings. And send me Natlie and Cl’ton.” The pair of Blueriders were astonishingly good at any kind of Search; if she couldn’t find the right cove in an hour, she’d need their help to locate it.

A very faint smile curved Sharon’s mouth as she gave a formal nod. “It would be my pleasure, Weyrwoman. I’ll make sure that everything is as you would have it.” Turning on her heel, she planted her fists on her hips and scowled at the Weyrleader, crowding him back to the chair. “Drink.”

Outflanked, N’ck sat, and scowled, and drank his wine. Then he stood, yet again. “Shards and shells, the Wingleaders are _my_ \--” he blinked, swayed, and sank heavily into the chair, staring at her with a hint of shocked betrayal, as if he’d forgotten she’d added the narcotic. Well, perhaps he hadn’t noticed, Pepper judged fairly as she hefted her bundle. But at least he didn’t seem inclined to get up again, even without Sharon’s presence to ensure it.

Satisfied, Pepper headed out to collect Vergineth for the second long flight of the morning. And, like the first one, she’d bring a bag with her.


	3. Part 3

_Vergineth comes,_ Helicarth warned.

Maria lifted her head to scan the sky, scowling. So much for her solitude. “I thought you told her to stay away,” she muttered. 

_I did,_ the golden queen confirmed, the whirl of orange in her gleaming eye undercutting the words. _She comes anyways_. Helicarth’s head tilted towards her, and the whirling eye momentarily filled her vision and swamped her with a muddle of affection and concern, and resolution to drive the other Queen off.

Comfort it might be, and her dragon’s answering reaction did their bond credit, but the idea of queens fighting was blasphemy enough to have Maria scrambling to her feet and laying a firm hand on Helicarth’s shoulder. “ _No._ We’re going to stay very quiet,” she continued when Helicarth rebelliously snorted.

She hid the sick slide of fear at the noise; of all the times for the dragon to decide to ignore her rider, this would be the worst, and she could not stand to lose Helicarth, not now. She’d much rather fight, but she would humble herself before risking her queen and true love. “If she truly wants to find us,” she added with brisk ferocity to settle the matter, “she is going to have to get lucky and fly right overhead.” 

It wasn’t Helicarth’s favored idea, either, but she settled back down on her beach, grumbling a little in her chest, and folded her wings tighter against her back. Maria eyed her as - just in case - she went and got her shirt and pants. 

No, Helicarth was not aroused to a rage, nor truly sulking in spite of the wings pinned against her back. She was still watching the sky, but willing to be led to the wisdom of hiding - as much as a golden dragon on Pern could, anyways. Maria leaned against her, arm slung up higher on Helicarth’s shoulders, and watched the horizon, where the expanse of sky met sea, and waited for a glimmer of gold.

“So, you do know that there’s sand beaches on the other side of Southern Boll, right?” Belatedly, she whirled, looked up at the cliffs, and scowled at the Blue and rider perched jauntily on the lip, smirking down at her.

“I’m aware,” she told Cl’ton, trying to shut down the commentary before it began. “Helicarth prefers this beach.” Just about anything could be justified as a dragon preference, she’d learned. And Helicarth _did_ like the beach, but not as much as Maria craved the solitude. Unfortunately, given how Helicarth was eyeing the Blue with slow-whirling, contented green in her many-faceted eyes as she enjoyed draconic gossip, she was quite alone in that particular desire.

She could see the flash of Cl’ton’s smirk in spite of the dragons-lengths between them. “And I’m sure the pebbles buff her hide to a fine sheen, Goldrider.”

Maria tried not to grind her teeth. “That is an excellent side-benefit, Bluerider,” she lied. Above her, another Blue burst into the sky - exactly the same shade of blue as the air above her, only the lines of riding straps and rider could be clearly seen - and two musical notes sounded as the dragons bugled to each other; she was absolutely positive that Natlie and Romoth didn’t need to confirm her location, but the pair of Blues were never apart for long.

And then Helicarth added her own gratifyingly louder and almost-angry bellow, and Maria glared up at the second Gold in the sky. Of course Cl’ton and Natlie had passed her location on so that Pepper could intrude where she wasn’t wanted. Even if she would inevitably be sympathetic, a mother clucking over her daughter’s scraped knee; that was, in fact, the point.

She didn’t need someone else to grab her knee and exclaim that it must hurt and slather it with numbweed until she couldn’t move her leg and was off-balance because of it; she just needed to ignore it until she forgot it had ever felt otherwise.

“You can both go now,” Maria said tightly, eyes still on the slow-descending Queen. 

She didn’t need to see Cl’ton to know that he was still grinning. “What, and abandon the Weyrwoman when she might need us again?” he said, all solicitous concern and loyalty.

There was movement in the sky, and Maria ignored Cl’ton in favor of frowning up as Natlie’s Romoth swept away from Vergineth, and she had enough formation training to see a wedge of sky sweeping open in front of her: maybe she could get aloft quick, and _between_ out...to where?

No, even if she fled again and the Blues _didn’t_ track her down, she’d have to return to the Weyr eventually, and Pepper would be waiting for her. She was still being ambushed now, but at least she had some time to brace herself as Vergineth picked out a place to land, and did so with slow, graceful fanning.

The cove was just Helicarth-sized, and Helicarth was small for a Gold, only a little larger than a Bronze; Maria was not privy to the dragons’ exchange, but it ended with Helicarth grumbling and rearing back, crowded off the beach and back into the seawater to permit the senior queen space to land. Maria refused to be moved, and stood her ground, leaning against the wing-formed wind, eyes on the dragon and the rider on her back. 

But her fingers trailed down her dragon’s hide, silky comfort, as Helicarth backed away, and she gave a brief scratch at the eyeridge nudged under her hand before Helicarth lifted her head with and imperious snort, dragon and rider of one mind. _I will do the fighting_ , Maria reminded them both, stealing a glimpse over her shoulder at her magnificent queen, almost glowing again in the morning light, an arch to her neck as if she was not hock-deep in water. At least one of them was poised.

Pepper took her time removing her helmet, fingers splaying briefly over her red hair, and Maria couldn’t read her expression. “You left very early this morning,” Pepper called down with just a hint of reproach, as if another queen must go begging to her senior for permission to do anything.

Maria’s skin tightened until it formed a brittle shell around her, contained the seething green sickness in her belly. “Cl’ton, go,” she said, and felt Helicarth put the weight of rank behind it. No matter Cl’ton seemed to want to stick around and watch the entertainment, his Blue obeyed a queen and leapt skyward with a wherry-frantic beat to his wings. 

With no witnesses, Maria folded her arms. “Do you have a point?”

Pepper finally slid down from Vergineth, and somehow, having her approach was worse than having her issue dictates from on high. “You left so early, we didn’t get a chance to talk,” Pepper said quietly.

A hand was extended, and even if Pepper’s eyes were big and soft and pleading, Maria’s gaze dropped to it with naked distaste, shifting backwards before she could think about anything except the fact that she did not want to be touched. And then she hated far more that Pepper was crowding her back into the water with it, catching her between dragons.

Maria was not going to be pushed back into the water like Helicarth, where the water would drag her legs down and slow her reflexes. She spun on her heel, left her dragon, and crossed back onto dry land; closer to the cliffs, but at least with a surer footing, pebbles notwithstanding. _I am here_ , Helicarth said. Even if she was very firm in the idea that didn’t need the reassurance that proximity was not necessary for draconic comfort, it felt good. 

“I don’t need to talk,” she said, and none of her uncertainty and all her unhappiness rang in her voice.

Pepper took another step forward, and drew up short when Maria took another step back; it was a victory to have her forehead and mouth crease with annoyance. “You don’t have to run,” Pepper said. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

For one bright, hot moment, every bruise screamed with all the lies around her. She shut it down before Helicarth could pick up on it - she was already eying the older, aloof queen far too intently. “You don’t need to chase me,” Maria said, voice on the edge of a knife. “I’m fine. I know what happened, and why, and that it’ll happen again.” Pepper’s eyes were too sharp, too bright, but Maria knew her voice hadn’t wobbled and that she’d said the right thing, and recited the Weyr saying for good measure: “The dragon decides, the rider complies, and abides.”

“That-” Pepper began, then inhaled and exhaled a long breath before beginning again, calmer. “That is what the Records say, yes. But your duty to your dragon doesn’t have to be -”

“Yes, it does,” Maria cut her off, and forced her voice to stay in the right octave; Pepper might coddled her like the child she’d never been, but she refused to sound like one. She was well aware that sounding _reasonable_ was another thing entirely, but this whole damn thing was unreasonable anyways. “My duty to my dragon has to _be_ , for I will do nothing to hurt her. I accept everything that goes into that, ever since you first taught it to me.”

“Hearing and experiencing are different things entirely,” Pepper said, not rising to the pointed comment. 

“And now I’ve experienced it.” Maria’s fingers curled tightly together, almost a fist, to keep from touching one of the bruises, but that only made her wrists ache. “I’ll be prepared next time.” Because Helicarth _would_ rise to mate again, and Maria was only grateful that it would be nearly a full Turn, if only because Queens could clutch for over forty Turns, and she would not think of forty Turns of Mating Flights.

“Being prepared does little good if you are merely bracing yourself,” Pepper said, and finally there was just a little sharpness in her voice, even if she knew better than to approach by now.

“The way you brace yourself before Fureth flies Vergineth?” 

Pepper didn’t bat an eyelash, but Vergineth bugled alarm - answered swiftly by Helicarth’s higher, younger, brassy tone - and Maria knew the cruel words had struck true. “No,” Pepper said, and her words at least were level. “The way I brace myself before Vergineth _chooses_ Fureth. It’s for the good of the Weyr, and must be done, but is still must be her choice.”

The words were meant to comfort, but they felt hollow; Maria remembered the twist of the bronze body, the claws that grabbed, matched with the dark head and the pawing hands, and wondered what choice there could have been but to endure or die.

Perhaps some of her dark stubbornness showed in more than her crossed arms and refusal to give ground; Pepper turned away and walked back to Vergineth and unhooked a wherhide bag from the flying straps. She used it as a buffer as she walked back over the beach, letting Maria grab it by the handle. 

It was heavier than it appeared, and something shifted as Maria hefted it. “You left the Weyr very early,” Pepper repeated, quieter this time. “I doubt very much you have time for breakfast, or thought to bring towels.” That was actually helpful, and Maria nodded and shifted the bag up onto the ledge to keep it dry. Why couldn’t everything have been actually helpful? “When you’re ready to talk, when you’re back in the Weyr,” Pepper continued, “you know where to find me.”

“I’ll look for the enormous golden dragon on the ledge next to Helicarth’s,” Maria said.

Pepper gave her a long look, but not nearly sharp enough to make Maria regret the subtle sarcasm. She turned a little, and gave Helicarth the same once-over. “I wonder if she’s reached her full size. She’s still young, relatively speaking.” Maria wasn’t sure if Helicarth’s grumble was comforting or not, being that it was what she very much wanted to do but couldn’t. “Well. My duty to you and your Queen,” Pepper finally said, and _finally_ turned and swung back up onto Vergineth.

When the larger dragon was just a gold speck in the sky, and then gone, Maria swung up onto the ledge and called Helicarth in from the bay. Pulling the bag into her lap, she reached in to find something for breakfast...and as the dragon found her comfortable hollow, Maria stared at the generous bottle, then unstoppered it and sniffed at the pale yellow liquid.

Comfrey, brewed and bottled so it was ready to use at any moment. Good for bruises, and there was even a bundle of bandages wrapped around it. Pepper, the consummate Weyrwoman, had known exactly what to expect and had come prepared.

Throwing the bottle against the cliff or into the bay would do no good, and at least now Pepper wasn’t here to see her pour a good measure onto one of the bandages, and slowly wind it around one wrist and knot it off. It would help, a little. At least it would be attempting to solve the problem, and without someone swooping down to coddle her like a small child.

Starting on the second wrist, she watched Helicarth settle back on the beach again, and was struck by the idea that she was young - just two full Turns. Maybe she wouldn’t grow any bigger, but she would get smarter, canny on the wing; she could use her size against the Bronzes, be fast and agile and slide among them until she outflew them all. And then she would have her pick of the strongest.

Maria’s fingers brushed against the bandages as she finished wrapping her wrists, and her smile was dark and grim. She would not be the one pinned, if Helicarth was the one grabbing a male and the riders truly swayed in answer to the tune the dragons plucked out. Being the aggressor and leaving bruises was a much better idea than being the one held down and raped.


End file.
